


Remember, Then Follow

by torino10154



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Het, Blow Jobs, Community: hp_goldenage, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Incest, Multi, Older Characters, Past Relationship(s), Past Underage, Sibling Incest, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torino10154/pseuds/torino10154
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: When James's wife dies, Albus comes to stay with him to keep him company. It's been decades since they've been alone together, and long buried feelings start making themselves known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember, Then Follow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [HP Goldenage](http://hp-goldenage.livejournal.com/)'s Salt and Pepper Fest, focusing on characters over the age of 50. Title comes from the song, "Try to Remember".

"You can put your things in the guest room." James opened the door and Al stepped through into the brightly lit bedroom. He watched Al look around, taking in the furnishings. "Emma picked the decor," he said, cutting off any smart remark his brother might come up with, then pulled the door closed behind him.

James went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. It was something he did a lot in the last few months. It was easiest to make tea when he was at a loss with what to do with himself. Something he'd inherited from Gran.

"Still drinking Earl Grey?" Al said, walking into the kitchen as James poured the first cup.

He looked up at his brother, really looking at him for the first time in ages. Everyone always said how much Al looked like their dad and he did... at first glance. But anyone that knew them both well could spot all the little differences. At fifty-seven, Al really didn't look much like Harry Potter at all. 

"I can brew some camomile if you'd like," he said, setting a teacup in front of Al. 

Al only laughed, a familiar sound that brought back summer days at the Burrow, all the cousins playing hide-and-seek in the orchard till it got dark.

"I was hoping for whisky." Al took a sip of the hot tea and sat back in his chair. "You look like shit."

James scowled. "And you look like you could stand to lose a stone."

"Not all of us were born Quidditch stars," Al replied mostly into his tea cup.

"If you're just here to remind me what a wanker you are, feel free to leave." James took his cup to the sink, rinsing it out and setting it in the drainer. No sense putting it back in the cupboard when he'd be needing it again in an hour or two.

"Not going anywhere, Jamie." He felt Al's hand on his shoulder, squeezing firmly, and James felt the tears welling up.

Emma was gone—she'd come down with an acute case of Scrofungulus while they were on holiday and couldn't get to a mediwitch in time. 

Their daughter was half-way round the world in China working with rare magical creatures, only making it home once every year if she was lucky. 

Last year she hadn't been lucky, though, and had to come home for her mother's funeral.

Of course, his parents had offered to stay with James for a while. His dad was in good shape for a man in his eighties but James didn't see the sense in taking him away from his cottage. He'd earned his peaceful retirement better than anyone in the world. His mum claimed she had to stick with him lest he get into mischief. James smiled at the thought. 

Lily had waited ages to have her children so they hadn't even left Hogwarts yet. James remembered the grey hairs he'd given his parents as well as the ones his daughter had given him. He didn't need his sister worried he'd lost the plot on top of everything else.

That left Al. Al who'd never really settled down. Sure, he'd managed to make a career somewhere in the bowels on the Ministry but he'd only had two significant others he deemed worthy of bringing around to meet the family and neither of them lasted more than a few years. No one had an issue with the fact that Al was gay but their dad especially felt like Al was missing out on something not having a spouse and family to come home to.

They all made it sound like James was doing Al the favour, not vice versa. Like he wanted to baby-sit his big brother.

Yet there he was, doing just that. 

"What have we got here for supper?" Al mumbled to himself, his head in the fridge. "Carrots, potatoes. I'll pick up a roast. We'll eat like the Minister himself."

James turned and crossed his arms over his chest. "You mean Malfoy? Always was a prat."

"Still is." Al laughed and shut the door of the fridge. He took a bite out of an apple he'd found before James could tell him that it had been in there for months. He scrunched up his face. 

"Where's the bin?" 

James pointed and Al tossed the apple, lifting his hands in the air when it went straight in.

"You don't need to stay here. They'll never know." 

Al raised an eyebrow. "Lie to Mum? You must be joking."

James couldn't help but smile. "Don't know what I was thinking."

Maybe it was because she was the youngest or maybe because she had so many brothers—whatever the reason, she always knew when they were up to something. James supposed his dad knew as well but unless they were going to hurt themselves, he allowed them their mischief.

"I understand, you know," Al said. "You're the first son. The expectations were always on you. I'm the fucked up middle child. A loss from the start."

"That's not true," James cut across him. "You were Dad's favourite."

Al laughed but without humour. "Like you weren't Mum's?"

"What?"

"Come on," Al replied. "You were. Played Quidditch like Mum and Dad, got married to the first person who gave you a proper look like Mum and Dad, always disgustingly happy like Mum and Dad." 

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" James yelled.

"Which part did I get wrong?" Al softly said, "Must have been the last."

James rubbed his hands over his face, not willing to admit it aloud. He'd recently lost his wife, for Christ's sake. He wouldn't sully her memory with what ifs and might have beens.

"Forget I said anything."

Turning towards the window over the sink, James closed his eyes, remembering the time all those years ago that he and Al had nearly been caught messing around together. 

Christmas seventh year. Al brought home something from Uncle George's shop. James would later pretend that maybe it was a bad batch that had made them act the way they did. 

He'd spent years decidedly _not_ thinking about Al's hand stroking his cock, his hot, wet mouth descending, his fingers tangling in the nest of black hair on the top of Al's head, biting his fist to keep from moaning.

There had been a knock at the door, a mad scramble to cover themselves.

"All right?" Mum had said, looking around, suspicion in her eyes. James had always hoped she was afraid they were drinking whisky or smoking something. Anything but what they were doing.

Al had tried to talk to him but James avoided him the whole rest of the holiday. In fact, he'd felt unease any time they'd been alone and tried to avoid that as well. If he allowed himself to think, he'd realise what he wanted. And what he wanted was _not_ something he should want. 

He turned to look at Al again. Forty years had passed. They were older now than their parents had been then. "Do you ever think about..." he trailed off and shook his head. It wouldn't do any good to go there now. Not after this many years.

But Al—clever, perceptive, pain in the arse Al—nodded, brilliant green eyes never leaving James's. 

"All the time." Al shrugged. "You were my first crush, how I knew I was gay."

"Really?" James said hoarsely, stunned. "That's... I don't know what to say."

Al moved closer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, but this time, he was looking right into James's eyes. "I'm here, if you need me."

The tears he'd tried to hold back began to fall and he let himself be pulled into Al's embrace. So many emotions warred inside him—grief and pain and love and affection—he wasn't even sure why he was crying. Relief, exhaustion. He just wanted to climb into his bed and bury himself under the covers for a week.

"Two ageing wizards should be able to live out their years and be a little less lonely." Al was rubbing soothing circles over his back as he spoke and it took James a moment to consider his words. He couldn't still want—?

"It's wrong," James said, lifting his head from Al's shoulder and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"You're right. It is." Al shrugged. "But I'm old enough not to care." 

Al's voice had that note of obstinance that James had always hated when they were younger.

Now, he almost found it comforting.

"Al," James breathed out, forty-odd years of repression falling away.

"What business is it of anyone else's?"

"Al," he repeated, desperate.

"The question is," Al said softly, "do you feel it, too?"

The words caught in James's throat. He couldn't say it. 

Not yet anyway.


End file.
